To Hiss or to Kiss (2 page)

“I know you’re here. Barb called me. She’s worried!” Naomi doesn’t have to try hard to ensure I hear her. Unlike me, she can project like the best stage actors. I think she missed her calling when she went into IT, but then again, she’s gainfully employed and makes a shitload more money than I do. I don’t really understand exactly what she does—she gave up talking tech to me while we were still roommates in college.

Naomi’s already heading toward the stairs and my bedroom, she knows me so well. I’ve always been a hider. “Seriously, Chlo, respond.”

I hear her jogging up the stairs, and then her shoes on the hardwood in the hall. She’s almost to my bedroom door, which is mostly shut. I groan again, which she evidently interprets as a good sign. “Good to know you’re alive.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “I’m coming in.”

Today I’m feeling childish enough that I pull my navy blue comforter over my head. It upsets the cats, and Enoki jumps off and scampers away. Sashi gives an annoyed mewl and resettles farther over on the bed.

I hear the door open, but no footsteps, so Naomi must be taking in the scene. I feel slightly embarrassed by my childish behavior, but not enough to actually do anything about it. Naomi, however, has other plans.

“Seriously?” She tramps over and yanks the comforter off me.

I meet her annoyed, yet concerned, blue eyes with a good amount of guilt and shame in my own. She has one hand on her hip, and despite the fact that she’s a good three inches shorter and about half as wide as me, she looks really intimidating at this moment.

Petite yet mighty, that’s Naomi. There’s no stopping her when she sets her mind to something. That’s probably the only reason we’re friends. I have a penchant for avoiding people. Generally I’m pretty thankful that she persisted in breaking my walls down back in college, but today I could really use some alone time.

Sashi walks over to sit by me now that the comforter is gone and is giving Naomi the stare of death that only cats can pull off. It doesn’t really mean they want to kill you—at least, not usually—it’s just that cats are very expressive when they are annoyed or want something or, really, pretty much all the time.

“I know, I know.” I pet Sashi absently as I meet Naomi’s stare. “Childish much?”

Naomi grins, her whole face lighting up in relief. “Well, at least I know you’re still you.”

“Ha-ha.” I’m seriously thinking of grabbing the comforter to hide again. Or maybe I should go lock myself in the bathroom. Tempting
.

Naomi sits beside me on the bed. “So spill. What’s got you so spooked?” Since Naomi already knows pretty much all my secrets and is stubborn as hell, I plunge in. Naomi is the only person I would trust with my life.

“I heard a person.” I try to sound nonchalant, like it’s no big deal and I don’t think I’m crazy and/or delusional.

“Like, in your head?”

“Yes, in my head. In my ears wouldn’t freak me out.” I roll my eyes, then realize I’m being my usual sarcastic and slightly belligerent self when pressed into a corner. I shouldn’t assume Naomi can read my mind when I’m being vague—a rather ironic way of thinking, given the topic of this conversation.

“Ah, the spunk returns with a vengeance.” Naomi pushes me softly in teasing affection. Then what I said really sinks in, and she’s all concern. “For real? You sure?” This is why I love her. I can be a complete bitch, and she’s still concerned about me. So I try to tone down the sarcasm a bit. But just a bit.

I assume my sarcastic humor with a side of bitchiness is why she loves me. She can’t be
that
stubborn that she’d just willfully be my friend no matter what, and she certainly brooks no abuse…well, there was that one guy, but that’s another story. “Well, it’s either that or I just discovered a dog or cat who made an evolutionary leap forward in the development of its frontal lobe.”

“Huh. I love it when you get all science-y on me.”

I meet Naomi’s grin with a wry one of my own. Thank God for best friends, even annoying, meddling ones. Or maybe especially annoying, meddling ones.

Naomi continues, “Maybe it was just a fluke. What am I thinking now?”

“That you’re concerned your best friend has finally completely lost it?” I deadpan.

“No!” Naomi snaps her fingers at me triumphantly. “I was thinking the number three over and over again. So, see, it was a fluke.” She pauses and then adds, “You’re also right about the concern, but that doesn’t take a psychic—you just know me that well.”

“True.” A slight head nod shows my concession. I’m pretty sure I’m one of the few people Naomi would trust with her life, even though, unlike me, she has a great family support system. Her parents are still married—they’re two of the people I’ve met who seem to have an actual storybook happy ending of love—living in a suburb of Cleveland where she grew up. Her older brother is married with a recently born baby girl and lives down the street from her parents. He and his wife are also on the happily-ever-after list. And even though Naomi chose a college in Columbus for some space—and to follow a guy who eventually dumped her before moving to San Jose for a big-time tech job, but we don’t mention that—she still talks with her family regularly and frequently visits them in Cleveland, and they come down to Columbus. My dad lives in Toledo, and I don’t remember the last time I talked with him or saw him. It was sometime around the holidays, probably. I try not to begrudge Naomi a great family, but sometimes it’s hard. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to patch things up with my dad. Which is why I avoid it just as much as he does.

“So who did you hear? Do you know?” Naomi pulls me back to the present again, and I start to blush as the answer to her question arises in my mind’s eye in the form of a hunky man. Blushing is a given for me—I’ve got pale skin and overactive capillaries.

“Ooh. Someone cute. Do tell.”

“It was a guy who walked into intake and got in line. But he wasn’t dropping off an animal,” I throw in, not sure why I feel the need to defend this stranger. “After I heard him, we had a staring contest. Then I came to my senses and bolted before the situation could get any weirder.”

“Afraid he’d see your hot, lusty thought, eh?”

I blush again at her teasing, and her blue eyes narrow at me.

“Oh, you really were having hot, lusty thoughts. Ooh, this is getting good. You’ve got the hots for a guy you can mindspeak with. It’s like soul mate/twin flames kinda stuff. This is so cool.”

Leave it to Naomi to find the silver lining—and already be planning my wedding in her head. Not that she dates much either, but, unlike me, she has managed to remain a romantic at heart and believes we each actually have a soul mate. I don’t think I’ve ever been romantic. Maybe when I was, like, eight or something. I’ve never really been a Disney Princess kind of girl.

“Maybe it’s cool for you,” I snark. “A guy I’ve never met may have heard me think he’s hot and a little bit about what I’d like to do about that.”

“Worse yet, you may never see him again.”

For some reason that depresses me more than anything so far, and I frown.

“But of course, if you’re soul mates, I’m sure you will.” She lays a consoling hand on my arm.

I’m still frowning, trying to understand why the thought of never seeing him again brings me such a feeling of emptiness when it should bring me relief. I have never wanted nor sought to have a man in my life. And certainly not a soul mate, if that concept even truly exists.

Has Naomi had one of her hunches about this situation? It’s probably too new for her to process. She’s always had a knack for just knowing how situations will turn out. In this case, I’m too freaked out even to ask her if she has had a hunch, and I’m sure she knows it’s too soon to bring it up and for me to be able to handle that info. Truth be told, I am not sure if I’d want her to be right or not.

“That’s it,” Naomi breaks into my thoughts yet again. She stands and pulls me out of bed, a look of grim determination on her face, even as her eyes sparkle. “This requires ice cream.”

That makes me smile at her. “Yes. Yes it does.” Nothing makes me feel better than ice cream. Except maybe sex with a really hot guy with emerald green eyes.

Chapter Two

Later that week, Barb calls me. Some small part of me hopes she’s calling to tell me something about the hot guy. “Hello.” I try to sound as cool as a cucumber.

“Hey, Chlo, how are you doing?” Barb’s voice is laced with concern, and I know she’s not just asking to be polite. Damn people who care about me.

“I’m fine.” I try to mean it. I’d almost completely stopped obsessing about that guy. Of course, I haven’t yet talked myself into going back to the shelter, but I’ve been busy…or something. “You hanging in there?”

“Always.” Barb pauses before continuing, and I know she is determining whether she believes me. To my relief she must decide she does—or more likely, that she’s going to let me off the hook for now. “I know you’ve expressed some interest in doing ride-alongs with the humane officers, and they’ve got one this evening. Suspected dogfighting case.” I can hear the disgust in her voice as she says the last part. “You interested? Your talents might give us just the clues we need.”

I’m hesitant to agree, as I’ve been dragging my feet about doing a ride-along for months, unsure I was ready to face the potential abusive situations and owner confrontations that the humane officers deal with. It’s hard enough to see the animals once they get to the shelter. Knowing a specific animal is in need is good incentive to get my head screwed on straight, though. I’m pretty sure Barb knows this about me, and it’s no accident she called me for such a last-minute volunteer opportunity.

“I’m in. What time do I need to be there?” Nothing like a good cause to get me over my obsession issues, right?

“Five thirty.”

I’m pretty sure I detect a note of pleased triumph in Barb’s voice. “OK. I’ll be there right after work.” Luckily she called before lunch, so I can run home to get more appropriate attire.

“Great. I’ll let them know. Bye.”

“Bye.” I hang up. Excitement bubbles in my stomach, along with my nerves. I’d worked with plenty of humane cases that came into the shelter due to neglect—mostly dogs left chained up outside without adequate shelter and care. Also a few hoarding cases. But never anything so brutal as dogfighting. Images of dogs scarred both physically and mentally play through my mind, and I shudder. To think I could help shut some motherfuckers down and give some psychologically damaged dogs someone to talk to has me all in, my nerves giving way to cold, hard anger. I’m almost not even haunted by disturbingly intense green eyes or disappointed that Barb’s call had nothing to do with tall, dark, and brooding. Almost.

I resolutely push any regrets from my mind and check the clock on my computer to see how long I have until lunch. I still have a good hour before I can leave, so I turn back to the spreadsheet I use to track office-supply ordering and lose myself in data.

* * *

I meet the humane officers promptly at the appointed time, now dressed in jeans and a humane society T-shirt. I know one of them. I walk up to him and shake his hand. “Hi, Mike.” He’s tall and a little portly and looks more like a really tall jolly elf than a humane officer, so I’m interested to see him in the field and not loving on the neglected animals he brings into the shelter.

“Hey, Chloe. Barb said you’d be riding along today. Welcome. Let me know if you have any questions as we go, OK?” Mike smiles amiably.

“Thanks. I’m excited to learn what it’s like to make the rounds.” The anger still burns in my gut, and I hold on to that, even as I irrationally scan the parking lot for my man. No, not my man. And it’s not as if he just randomly hangs out at the humane society.
Geesh
.

“Good. Maybe we’ll be seeing you some more. We can always use another set of eyes and ears, not to mention a big heart for animals. Tonight should be mostly routine.

“We have a few outside dogs to check on, and then we’ll be doing a drive-by on the dogfighting complaint to gather potential evidence to build a case with local law enforcement. Usually in these cases there are more kinds of illegal activity than animal cruelty going on, so we’ll be scanning for any evidence of that, too.”

The other humane officer walks up. She is petite but gives off an aura of strength I can’t help but admire. She has a slight Mexican accent. “Unfortunately if all we get them on is animal cruelty, it’s practically a slap on the wrist in Ohio. But if there are drugs or illegal guns, then these fuckers, pardon my language, go away for the time they really deserve. It’s the only way to get anywhere near close to justice for these animals. I’m Maria, by the way.” She holds her hand out to me.

“Chloe.” We shake hands.

“Good to meet you.” She turns to Mike. “Ready to roll?”

“Yep. Mind sitting in the back, Chloe?”

“Nope. Just tell me where to go and what to do. I’m at your mercy.” I smile, and then let the steel into my voice as I turn to Maria. “And, Maria, I couldn’t agree with you more. There’s no punishment strong enough for people who abuse animals so brutally.”

She nods her agreement as we all climb in the white van with the humane society logo painted onto the side. Inside there is one bucket seat in the back and the rest of the space is occupied by cages and a few carriers—for the small ones, Mike explains.

The first house we go to, the dog doesn’t have a proper doghouse for being an outdoor dog. When the owners answer, they act embarrassed that they didn’t realize the dog needed a doghouse since it is furry. But when Mike patiently explains the importance of shelter from the elements—hot, cold, wet, and sunny—they quickly agree to get something, and Mike tells them he’ll be back to check on them in three days. He also gives them information on where to get a proper doghouse either in town or online. We leave with the dog now comfy inside the house.

The next case is worse. The poor golden retriever is suffering from fly-strike—he’s covered with flies and maggots. His beautiful golden coat is matted and falling out, and the smell of the infection from the wounds in his flesh where the flies ate into the skin to lay their eggs is horrendous. I try to keep my gagging to a minimum. It’s important to make a good impression if I want to continue working in the field, and I don’t want to make the dog feel any worse than he already does.